by Boyd Brent
“A man can't fight hisself, I guess.”
“That is where you are wrong, Johnson. A war rages inside all men. A moralising man like yourself would look upon this war as one between good and evil. I have news for you: there are no such things as good and evil. There is only empathy and the lack of it. Son, it may or may not surprise you to know that Johnson considers himself highly moralistic. Isn't that right, Johnson?”
“I got morals aplenty.”
“Now hold on there, Johnson. I never said you had morals. You don't have no morals. I said you are moralistic. There is a difference. To judge others and find them wanting enough to kill them for profit requires a certain amount of moralising. Take Ayita here. You judge her as being less than human, isn't that right?”
“She's a heathen. A savage. Unchristian as they come. Jesus don't love her kind. Why would he?”
“You see? It is easier for Johnson to moralise and pass judgment and find her inferior than to empathise with her or walk a while in her shoes. Something that is within his capabilities. Instead he moralises and in so doing he finds her lacking enough to murder her for profit. It is the lazy way of doing things. But in many ways being a lazy, moralising bastard is more efficient.”
Johnson looked stung. “Lazy? Shoot, I've worked hard as a nigger my whole life.”
“Murder and mutilation is hard work, is it, Johnson?”
Johnson scratched his stubble. “It ain't just the scalpin'. You have to track 'em and catch 'em … sometimes across rough and inhospitable terrain. That is hard work. Man's work. And that's the God's truth.”
“You have our sympathies, Johnson. Do you know that in a few decades from now men like Johnson will have moved on from slaughtering Indians to slaughtering buffalo? They will slaughter over a million of the beasts. Slaughter them to extinction. Is it any wonder empathy stands on the brink of extinction also? It feels as though the dice have been loaded against you from the very beginning, son. Dig down deep enough and mankind is rotten to the core.”
“I disagree.”
“Do you now.”
“Johnson here is only part of the picture. Before long men will head south in their thousands. Risk their lives to bring an end to slavery. And they are going to win that war. You know why?”
“By all means enlighten me.”
“Fighting for those who need fighting for strengthens a man's resolve. It requires a strength of character that selfish, lazy and unimaginative men like Johnson do not possess.”
Johnson shook his head. “Shit.”
“Watch your mouth, Johnson. A lack of character is one possibility. You want to hear another?”
“Knock yourself out,” said David.
“I suppose your tone is to be expected under the circumstances. Johnson, how would you like to assist a man in a demonstration?”
Johnson gave little indication as to whether he would or wouldn't.
“Now Johnson, believe me when I say your life hangs in the balance. You do believe that your life hangs in the balance, don't you, Johnson?” Johnson's face contorted like he was about to burst into tears. “'Course I believe it!”
“Good. I'd like you to imagine you are sat in a court of law. You are accused of all the crimes against humanity that you have undoubtedly committed. Over there is a jury. They hold over you the power of life and death. I would like you to go ahead and appeal to the good natures of that jury.”
“Say what?”
“Stand up and plead for your life, Johnson.”
Johnson rose to his feet. “Well, I ain't done nothing wrong. Not really. Ain't broken no laws. I was just trying to make me an honest living.”
“Apparently the urgency of your situation has not been made clear enough. A more impassioned plea is required of you, Johnson, and in this regard I am willing to assist you.” Goliath leaned across, clasped Johnson's manhood and squeezed. Johnson squealed like a pig and his face contorted into a ball shape. “You sorry for what you've done, Johnson?”
“Yeah, I'm sorry! Please!”
“What are you sorry for, Johnson?”
“For all of it! I fell in with some bad people! And took to drinking too much liquor. Please! I have kin! Kin dependent on me! I won't do it no more! I'm a changed man!”
“Better. Now, some of those jury members would not believe a word of Johnson's contrition. They would have no empathy in their hearts for him, which given Johnson's track record would be the appropriate response.”
“I'm mortal. You want to get to the point?”
“My point is that others on that jury may take pity on Johnson. Look upon him with empathy in their hearts and show him mercy. Which only goes to prove one thing: empathy has rendered these jurors misguided and weak.”
“Those jurors are not demonstrating empathy, Goliath.”
“Well, if their kindness towards Johnson is something other than empathy, then by all means enlighten me.”
“It's gullibility. They are moralising bastards lacking in imagination just like Johnson here. Otherwise their empathy would be reserved solely for the innocent victims of his crimes.”
Goliath's face set into a frown. “It seems judgment has been passed, and you have been found wanting, Johnson.” Goliath tore off Johnson's manhood in a single movement and slammed it, wrapped in denim like a gift, on the table. Johnson fell back into his chair and stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
David stood up and put on his hat and doffed it towards Goliath. “I appreciate your saving me the trouble.”
“Where you going, son?”
“South. To kill a Colonel.”
“This is a war you cannot win – a war that can only be concluded with your death. You are a dead man walking. Nothing but a dead marker.”
David walked around Goliath, picked up Ayita and placed her on his back. She clung to him grimly and buried her head in his neck. Goliath rose slowly from his chair … and kept rising. David fingered up the brim of his hat and looked up at him. “You're shorter than I remember.”
“Taller. Nine feet four and one half inches. Now put her down.”
“Only my death will prevent me walking out of here with this woman. And since neither one of us believe that the Omega Protocol exists in the mind of anyone in this town, you are going to step aside.”
“Am I now?”
“Add to this the possible existence of other portals … portals that can only be activated by me … portals that may lead to the location of the individual you seek.” Goliath raised his Stetson, lowered it again and stepped aside. David walked past him and down the length of the bar to the door.
Goliath cleared his throat, and David paused facing those doors. “In our time frame there are one hundred and two beings left in existence, son. One hundred vessels currently en route to the Colonel. And you and I. You might want to save yourself a whole heap of bother by giving the Colonel a wide berth. Go on your way and in so doing locate another portal – if one exists. One thing is certain: you are going to end your days at the appropriate time and in the appropriate place, wherever that may be. And in that place the Omega Protocol is waiting on me.”
David walked through the swing doors and out into the sunshine. “Is he following us, Gull?”
“I am no longer detecting any life signs inside the saloon. Goliath is gone.”
“Gone?”
“My summation would be that the Event Helix has provided him a shortcut to the Colonel.”
Fifty three
One hundred miles south of Pioche, the Colonel lay flat on his paunch beside a man nicknamed the Bloodhound. From their elevated position along a ridge, they watched a ruddy expanse through which a river cut a swathe of glistening blue. Clusters of green and thorny vegetation ranged along its banks as far as the eye could see. Several hundred Tiguas had set up camp on river's left bank – seventy tepees erected amid a labyrinth of newly trodden paths where children played and women ferried washing from the river.
The Colonel smile
d and fingered his grey moustache. “The men are away huntin'… we have ourselves some easy pickings, Blood.” Blood was a Mexican with a snub nose and grey stubble that crept closer to his eyes than human stubble should. Similarly, his eyebrows were thick and dark, growing over his eyes like natural shields against the twin elements of weather and mercy. Blood nodded, but did not smile or speak, for he was a man of limited mirth and fewer words. They backed away from the edge of the ridge and got up and made their way down towards a group of waiting men – thirty-five in total, and all wretched and filthy and riding mounts adorned with plunder better suited to the minions of hell than men of earth: black and wizened body parts strung together with like for uniformity and safe keeping. These included ears, tongues, teeth, scalps and genitalia both male and female.
The Colonel addressed his men. “Blood has led us to another bonanza, gentlemen. The menfolk are away … doubtless on a huntin' trip, which is thoughtful of them. After our work is done, the hunter will become the hunted. Could be the heathen have caught us a good supper.” He heaved himself up into the saddle of his horse, stuck a cigar between his lips, then struck a match on his saddle to light it. He puffed on it rapidly before removing it from his mouth and contemplating the lit end. “On the other side of this ridge are several hundred heathen. They are waitin' on us, gentlemen. They have been waitin' on us their whole lives – not that they know it. I need not remind you that powder is in short supply, so reserve your fire only for any men armed with bows. Women and children are to be felled with steel or club. Have I made myself clear?” Swords were pulled from scabbards and clubs with nails twirled on leather straps. The Colonel withdrew his own sword and held it up so that its blade glistened in the sun. He kicked the sides of his horse and it galloped up the incline with thirty-six others in tow.
Above the voices of the children in the camp came a rumbling like the approach of thunder. At the southern end of the camp women sat in a circle and chatted as they sowed. A bowl of drinking water sat at the centre of this circle and it began to dimple and splash. The river was wide and deceptively shallow, and a teenage boy and girl splashed about towards its centre. The boy scooped some water into the girl's face and she shrieked playfully. She splashed him back, but he did not react. Something behind her had his full attention, and the expression on his face was not one she'd seen before. The boy's man-name was Enapay, which means 'brave' and had always suited him, but he did not look brave now. “Enapay?” said the girl.
Enapay's eyes switched to her as though she'd just materialised. “Run!” he shouted, and bolted for the shore screaming “Mother!” Enapay's mother was sitting in the circle of sowers, and she heard her son's cry. She saw him splashing his way towards the bank. She turned to see the Colonel and his men galloping down the hill towards them. She ran towards her son with arms outstretched as a pitiful barrier to thwart the advancing horses. The clod clud, clod clud, clod clud of hooves grew louder, and the world of screams and pandemonium vanished for her as she was trampled under the hooves of one horse, then another, and another. Enapay scrambled up onto the bank and looked over at his mother, but saw only smiling demons in human form. Up front was the Colonel, who held his sabre high, leaned in his saddle and sliced off Enapay's raised hands. The rider that followed was Blood, and Blood swung a mace abandoned by Spanish invaders three centuries before into his screaming face. The party of raiders thundered through the camp, trampling all before them as though riding through empty space. People at rest inside the tepees were crushed, and those who scrambled out were hacked or bludgeoned or shot. When the raiding party reached the far end of the camp, they turned in unison like a flock of predatory birds and rode back.
Soon only a small number of women and children remained alive, and they cowered beyond the reach of club and sabre. Men were forced to leap off their mounts to murder them.
It took several hours to sever all the scalps, and by the time it was done the sun shone horizontally across the land and the heads of the murdered glistened like those of an alien species. Blood stood with his back to the Colonel. His arms were folded and he stared up at the ridge they'd descended from. The Colonel walked over and stood beside him. “What is it? You think we've been followed?”
“Not followed.”
The Colonel squinted up at the ridge and saw nothing. He turned and Blood clasped his arm. The Colonel looked at Blood's hand and then at Blood. Blood gestured to the top of the ridge with his chin. Along its top stood a line of at least one hundred men – white men – and at their centre was a man who stood at least nine feet tall. Goliath held a suitcase filled with the Colonel's gold in one hand. In his other hand he held Johnson's ball sack. He smiled, held it aloft and jiggled it like a man summoning his servants with a bell.
Fifty four
Ted was sitting on a rock in the shade of his wagon. His gaze was fixed upon the ground, and he muttered congenially to a cactus. He saw David's shadow merge with his own and looked up. “Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes. I was just conversing with my good lady wife … I told her what's been occurring of late. She's the only one who won't think me crazier than a bag of rabid skunks.”
David glanced down at the cactus. “Alright.”
“The spirit of my good lady wife is just as real to me as that voice inside your own head.” Ayita stepped from behind David and looked at Ted as though he was crazier than a bag of rabid skunks. “Howdy,” said Ted.
“Ted, this is Ayita. Ayita this is Ted.”
Ayita flattened her palms together and gave a curt bow.
“No need to bow. I ain't royalty. What are you doing with this squaw if you don't mind my asking?”
“She needs my help.”
“You surprise me. And where are you conveying this poor creature?”
“New Mexico.”
“You're headed in the same direction?”
“Yes. Her people are down there.” Ted placed his hands on his knees and leaned down toward Ayita. “This here is your lucky day, young lady.” He straightened up and looked at David. “They sell her on?”
David used his thumbnail to remove some dirt from the nail of his middle finger. “Why don't you ask her.”
Ted leaned forward again and raised his voice. “Your folks sell you on?”
Ayita folded her arms. “I'm not deaf. Or stupid. And my people are not barbarians.”
Ted's eyes glazed over as though he'd forgotten his question. He straightened up and wiped a sleeve across his brow. “Well, she sure is spirited.”
“And growing progressively so.”
Ted looked off towards the town he'd been safely conveyed to. “There anyone left alive in there?”
“As far as I know normal service has been resumed in Pioche.”
“It's safe, then?”
“As safe as it can be.”
“So, you killed that giant fella?”
“He's not dead, but he's gone. And so too, it appears, are our black friends.”
“Yessir. Talk of bullet-proofed giants will scare off all but the oldest fool. They wanted me to thank you, though …” Ted shoved a hand deep into the back pocket of his jeans. “Isaiah … he wanted you to have this.” David held out his hand and Ted dropped a coin into it. “Said his brother gave it to him, that he always knew it would bring him luck … and he seemed keen for it to do the same for you.”
David examined the coin. It was black with a few specks of silver on one side. “They went north?”
“They did. As you can see, they took two of the horses.”
“Seems fair.”
Ted scratched at his stubble. “I take it our paths are soon to part?”
“Be thankful for that.”
“It goes without saying I owe you my life.”
“You're a good man, Ted. Given half a chance you'd dig an old man out of the ground.”
“Guess I would.” Ted stepped forward and squeezed David's shoulder. “I know you have dangerous times ahead … you and that … tha
t other part of you. You take care of each other, you hear?”
“We'll do our best.”
“I get the feeling there's a lot riding on it.”
“More than I care to think about. I hope you find what you're looking for in California.”
“My girls are waitin' on me there.” Ted pawed at the dirt with his foot. “When a man gets as old as me, he looks back and he gets to thinkin' about his life … whether he might have gone a different route, or whether his path is laid out and he must walk it as best he can.” He squinted deep into David's eyes as though looking for confirmation.
David smiled. “Every brick of that path has been laid for your boots alone.”
“Well, that being the case, I just hope I have done justice to those I have come across.”
“I get the feeling you have.”
“To what end?”
“You're a good man. You might say I'm on my way to see about that right now.”
“At any rate, I'm sure glad our paths crossed.”
“So am I.”
David started out south with Ayita. He'd gone a few hundred metres when he turned his horse to face Ted and raised an arm. Ted was sat up front of his wagon as it moved slowly towards Pioche. He stood up and took off his hat, raising it up as high as his old bones would allow.
The rest of that day David and Ayita rode across a sweltering and grey land where the only other creatures they saw were poisonous snakes and birds of prey. David rode with his eyes fixed on the horizon and the sun on his back. After a time, Gull said, “Hello, David.”
“Gull. You been busy?”
“I have been making something. Something I would like you see. Will you join me by the lake?”
“What is it?”
“It's a surprise.”
“Are you talking to yourself?” asked Ayita.